


Operation Get Enjolras to Love Christmas

by likechildreninafairytale



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Christmas!, M/M, Modern AU, also drunk!R but what's new?, being in love and not knowing how the other feels uwu, candy cane shenanigans, not very descriptive sex scene, sad and in love!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likechildreninafairytale/pseuds/likechildreninafairytale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Enjolras hates Christmas. He despises Christmas.”</p><p>“There was a time when you thought he despised you, too, if you remember.”</p><p>Grantaire remembers. He isn’t ever likely to forget. Mostly because sometimes, he still finds himself wondering if it’s true. He wonders then if operation ‘Get Enjolras to Love Christmas’ is going to fail as badly as operation ‘Get Enjolras to Love Me’ had. </p><p>“R,” Courfeyrac nudges him, “Enjolras doesn’t hate you.”</p><p>Grantaire shakes his head. “I know that,” he says, though it isn’t entirely true. You don’t have to like someone to have sex with them. He knows that. He knows that because he and Enjolras started having sex in the aftermath of a rather fierce verbal argument. “But he does hate Christmas,” Grantaire finalises. “I swear to you, I’m dating the grinch!”</p><p>“I don’t want to destroy Christmas,” a voice says and it makes Grantaire freeze on site because he said ‘the D word’ with Enjolras within ear shot. Enjolras’ ears are pink and he’s got a pile of books under one arm, his laptop under the other. “I just don’t feel particularly encouraging of it. I’m really more of a scrooge.”</p><p>In which Grantaire may or may not be dating the Grinch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Get Enjolras to Love Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my very first E x R fic and I'm so in love with this pairing that they are constantly on my mind and so this happened. This was supposed to be a short Christmas fic, but didn't get done on time and spiralled out of control and now it's 10,000+ words long and yes.  
> 

**Operation Get Enjolras to Love Christmas.**

Grantaire loves Christmas. He enjoys the songs and the food and the alcohol (especially the alcohol) and the gifts and being with friends. He loves the cold weather and the scarves and holding Enjolras' icy hands in his own to warm him up when he comes in out of the snow, because Enjolras never remembers to wear gloves. It's the only time he dares hold Enjolras' hand. That being said, Grantaire had been aware of what he was agreeing to when he first allowed his lips to touch Enjolras' that shocking night in the upstairs room of the Musain. He knew what he was getting himself into when he allowed Enjolras to push him backwards against the wall and growl into his ear that he frustrated him to no end. He knew what he was getting himself into when Enjolras was pressed flush to him, his hips grinding hard against Grantaire's body. He knew that Enjolras was exactly what he wanted, flaws (though to Grantaire, there really weren't very many) and all.

So, yes, being in a relationship with Enjolras was (mostly) exactly what Grantaire had expected it to be. It had started with sex and they hadn't really discussed it afterwards, but seven months later, they are having regular sex and are practically living together. They own a key to one another's apartments and they act like a couple in every way and everyone views them as such. Enjolras is serious and not very affectionate, which Grantaire had known already. However, there were some things he was yet to learn about his sort-of boyfriend. In December, Grantaire learns that Enjolras, despite his constant wearing of red, doesn't like Christmas. At all. And Grantaire is adamant to change that.

The first realisation comes when they are walking back to Enjolras' following a meeting at the Musain. Grantaire is relatively sober and his spirits are high, because Christmas is drawing closer with each passing day. Shops have trees in the windows and wreaths on their doors. House roofs are lined with lights resembling icicles that flicker in the night. Coffee shops have begun selling festive drinks and mince pies and gingerbread. Old people and children stand in the middle of the streets singing carols and ringing bells.  

At the sight of all of this, Enjolras _scowls._. Grantaire is incredulous.

"Did you just _scowl_ at Christmas?"

"What?" Enjolras asks absently, tucking his hands into his pockets because he still hasn't invested in a pair of gloves.

"You did," Grantaire goes on. "You _scowled_ at Christmas."

Enjolras rolls his eyes and quickens his pace. Grantaire follows suit.

"Do you hate Christmas?" he asks. "How can anyone _hate_ Christmas?"

Enjolras gives in then. "It's all entirely too commercial. It's an excuse for everything to rise in price and for people to be guilted into spending money they don't have."

"But that's not all it is," Grantaire tries.

"The birth of Jesus," Enjolras says with disdain. "Even if I did believe in such a thing, it is plain to see that the entire true meaning of the holiday is lost to commercialism."

Grantaire is stunned. "Wow," he says simply, because what more is there to say? Over the next few days, he devises operation ‘Get Enjolras to Love Christmas’.

 

***

Grantaire walks into the room, a grin on his face. He stands a few feet away from Enjolras, who looks up at him and drops his gaze to Grantaire’s new jumper.

“Do you want to see my North Pole?” Enjolras reads, a frown on his face. He raises his eyes to Grantaire quizzically.

Grantaire grins and opens his arms as if to show off his jumper. It’s blue and has a picture of a red and white pole on it. “Well?” he asks and then waggles an eyebrow suggestively. “Do you?”

Enjolras folds his arms and looks thoughtful. “Shouldn't it be your South Pole?”

Grantaire’s smile fades. “No,” he says. “North Pole. Because it's Christmas. That's where Santa lives.”

Enjolras only shakes his head. “South is that way though,” he says nodding his head towards Grantaire’s lower half. “Your North Pole would be your...your nose. Which suggests you've got a big nose.”

Grantaire looks stunned. Enjolras goes back to typing on his laptop.

“Wait. You think I've got a big nose?” Grantaire asks going to sit on the edge of the table where Enjolras is working.

“I never said that,” Enjolras tells him.

Grantaire reaches out and holds Enjolras by his shoulders. He’s never been thrilled with how he looks, but he’s never thought of his nose as being particularly large. A little crooked, maybe, but not big. “You do, don’t you? You think I’ve got a big nose.”

Enjolras sighs. “Grantaire,” he says, sounding tired. “I never said that. And no, of course I don’t think you’ve got a big nose. Your nose is fine.”

 _Fine._ It isn’t exactly what a guy longs to hear from his boyfriend. But Enjolras is, in all likelihood, not Grantaire’s boyfriend.

And then Enjolras is touching his hand where it’s pressed against his shoulder and his touch is gentle and warm and it almost makes Grantaire forget his insecurities, both about himself and about their not-relationship.

***

When Enjolras walks into his bedroom the following day, he stops suddenly. He almost drops his laptop, because there, on the centre of his bed is a very, very naked Grantaire, on his hands (well, one hand) and knees (both knees) fucking himself with a small candy cane, a santa hat on his head.

Enjolras closes his mouth and blinks.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” Grantaire says, twisting around. He’s flushed pink. His thrusts have slowed now. “I was terrified this thing would break inside and, well, you get the idea.”

“That’s very dangerous,” Enjolras manages.

Grantaire removes the object from himself and climbs off of the bed towards Enjolras. Enjolras cannot move. It is not within his power to do so. Grantaire comes closer then and takes the laptop from Enjolras and places it down on the floor next to the bed. He stands up straight again and presses himself against Enjolras, then winds his arms around him. He’s more confident in the bedroom, it’s the only place he really touches him. Outside, it’s small, insignificant touches to his arms or his cheek. In the bedroom, Grantaire holds him like he’s frightened he’ll run away.

“It is rather dangerous, isn’t it?” Grantaire asks and he begins unbuttoning Enjolras’ shirt.

“Yes,” Enjolras gulps. “Small. Too fragile.”

Grantaire hums as he presses an open mouthed kiss to Enjolras’ lips. “Far too small,” he agrees. “But it did the job to make way for something bigger.”

And that’s when Grantaire takes his hand and guides it around his back so that he can feel just how much of a good job it did of opening him. Enjolras swallows hard and then quickly undress himself entirely.  

Grantaire takes charge again and leads him to sit on the bed, He climbs up and slicks Enjolras’ cock with the lube, before climbing into his lap and looping his arms around his neck. Enjolras simply allows him to take control. He rides him slowly and kisses him deeply, like he’s savouring every taste. When they’ve both come, Grantaire lays down beside him and falls asleep with his head in Enjolras’ lap. It makes it difficult to work, but he has to get things done, so he bends his knees and places the laptop on top of them and begins typing.

It’s an hour later when Grantaire stirs. He lies still for a moment, blinking against the dim light and then he rolls his head closer to Enjolras’ crotch and takes his soft cock in his mouth and sucks until he’s hard and groaning, his laptop forgotten at the end of the bed. Before he gets close enough to climax, Grantaire sits up and climbs into his lap once again and whispers in his ear.

“I’m still open enough from earlier,” he tells Enjolras and he almost comes on the spot. But Grantaire is reaching back as he kisses him dirtily and guiding Enjolras’ cock inside him and he rides him again until he’s mumbling Grantaire’s name so incoherently that he gives up and moans “R”into his neck over and over and then he comes and they fall asleep together, the candy cane long lost between the sheets and their skin.

***

Courfeyrac arrives at Enjolras’ hoping to seek refuge from the heavy falling snow outside. Enjolras isn’t home, but Grantaire is there, as he so often is. Grantaire makes hot chocolate and hangs a candy cane on the lip of each of their cups and they sit together at the kitchen table chatting. Grantaire tells Courfeyrac all about his plan to get Enjolras to like Christmas and he is instantly intrigued.

“Oh, come now, R, it can’t be all as bad as you’re saying,” Courfeyrac insists.

“You haven’t seen him,” Grantaire argues. “I played Christmas songs in the kitchen yesterday and he tore them apart. He wanted to know what reindeer games were anyway and why anyone would put up with carolers with such demands as wanting figgy pudding and threatening not to leave without it. He can’t enjoy himself. He doesn’t know how.”

“That’s not true,” Courfeyrac says and he’s got a glint in his eye when he says it.

Grantaire sighs. “Okay, yes, I’ve borne witness to him enjoying himself, I was wrong. But I’m not wrong about this. Enjolras hates Christmas. He _despises_ Christmas.”

“There was a time when you thought he despised you, too, if you remember.”

Grantaire remembers. He isn’t ever likely to forget. Mostly because sometimes, he still finds himself wondering if it’s true. He wonders then if operation ‘Get Enjolras to Love Christmas’ is going to fail as badly as operation ‘Get Enjolras to Love Me’ had.

“R,” Courfeyrac nudges him, “Enjolras doesn’t hate you.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I know that,” he says, though it isn’t entirely true. You don’t have to like someone to have sex with them. He knows that. He knows that because he and Enjolras started having sex in the aftermath of a rather fierce verbal argument. “But he does hate Christmas,” Grantaire finalises. “I swear to you, I’m dating the grinch!”

“I don’t want to destroy Christmas,” a voice says and it makes Grantaire freeze on site because he said ‘ _the D word_ ' with Enjolras within ear shot. Enjolras’ ears are pink and he’s got a pile of books under one arm, his laptop under the other. “I just don’t feel particularly encouraging of it. I’m really more of a scrooge.” He slows down and frowns at Grantaire and Courfeyrac. His eyes are on Grantaire’s cup, which still has the little candy cane hanging from the side. He lifts his gaze to Courfeyrac, who is sucking on the end of his own candy cane. “I hope neither of those are the one from last night,” He continues through to the bedroom then, closing the door behind him.

Courfeyrac looks across the table at Grantaire, eyes wide. He drops the candy cane and his eyes demand an explanation.

Grantaire lets out a shaky laugh. “I may have done some unspeakable things with a candy cane last night in a bid to seduce Apollo into the Christmas spirit.”

“Christ,” Courfeyrac breathes out.

“It wasn’t that one though!” he adds quickly.

“I’ll pass, all the same,” Courfeyrac decides. “Did it at least work?”

“In getting him to have sex with me or in getting him into the Christmas spirit?”

“Judging by the conversation we’ve been having I think I already know the answer to the latter, but the former?”

Grantaire feels a smile forming. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Twice, in fact.”

Courf holds a hand up. “That’s all I need to know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go bleach my brain to rid it of all images of you doing perverted things to the innocent candy cane.”

***

Later, when Grantaire has gone to use the bathroom, Enjolras appears in the kitchen and joins Courfeyrac at the table. Courfeyrac smiles at him when he sits down.

“Done with that huge pile of work already?” he asks.

“No,” Enjolras says, a little distractedly. “Has Grantaire said something to you about our relationship?”

Courfeyrac arches an eyebrow. It’s the first time he’s heard Enjolras refer to what he and Grantaire have as a relationship, despite it totally being one. He doesn’t comment on it. “No,” he says. “Should he have?”

Enjolras frowns. It’s not uncommon.

Courfeyrac gives in then. “All he’s said is that his boyfriend is the grinch. That’s all.”

Enjolras’ blue eyes widen for a split second, but Courfeyrac doesn’t miss it. “He called me his boyfriend?” he asks and he looks slightly offended. Courfeyrac knows better than to buy it.

“Well, no,” Courfeyrac admits. “But he did say ‘I’m dating the grinch’. You heard that yourself.”

Enjolras only deepens his frown, which Courfeyrac hadn’t thought possible.

“You are dating though, aren’t you?” Courfeyrac says and it’s not really a question. “Dating makes you his boyfriend, you know.”

Enjolras only looks more troubled.

“Enjolras, you’re practically living together.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says, rather amusedly, “you absolutely _are_.”

“You don’t think Grantaire has a similar...arrangement with others? He must have.”

Courfeyrac almost laughs in his face. It’s not his fault. It’s _funny_. “Enjolras, I can promise you that you are the only raspberry in Grantaire’s punnet.”

Enjolras doesn’t even react to the absurdity of Courfeyrac’s statement, he simply looks more agonised. “You can’t be certain, can you?”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “It really doesn’t take a genius. What’s gotten into you anyway? You’ve never been like this about it.” It’s true. Enjolras has never commented on his and Grantaire’s relationship.

“Christmas,” Enjolras reveals. “I don’t like it.”

“Yes, we know this. You are a younger, much better looking, much blonder Scrooge. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“He wants me to like it,” Enjolras says miserably.

“Since when has it mattered what anyone wants of you?”

“It doesn’t,” he says.

“So, what does it have to do with Grantaire?”

“He wants me to like it,” he says again. “He has been trying desperately to get me to like it. But I can’t.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you should talk to Grantaire about it?”

“Talk to Grantaire about what?”

They both turn to find Grantaire coming back into the room, an uncertain smile on his lips. Enjolras almost trips as he gets to his feet.

“Nothing,” he says and it’s suspicious. Courfeyrac can’t help but roll his eyes again. “About...raspberries.” Enjolras, as talented an orator as he is, doesn’t even attempt to cover up the bizarreness of his statement.

“Raspberries,” Grantaire repeats, cluelessly.

“Yes,” Enjolras says and he clears his throat. Again, he is being suspicious, Courfeyrac notes. “Have you got any? Here?”

Grantaire hasn’t taken his eyes off of Enjolras. They’re wide and questioning. “Um, no. I don’t think it’s raspberry season. But I could go—”

“No, no,” Enjolras says. “It’s fine. I’ve got work to do.” He slips past Grantaire, touching his elbow very, very lightly and quickly. Grantaire seems to be stuck frozen to the spot.

“Is he okay?” he asks Courfeyrac, once Enjolras is back in the other room.

“No,” Courfeyrac tells him. “He’s Enjolras.”

They speak no more about it, but the next afternoon, when Courfeyrac stops by to meet Grantaire and Enjolras to walk to the Musain for a meeting, Enjolras is sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at his laptop as he eats raspberries from a half full plastic punnet. He doesn’t have to ask to know that Grantaire walked the length and breadth of the town looking for them.

***

Grantaire finds out rather easily that Enjolras does not want to introduce him to his family. One night, when they’re curled up together in Grantaire’s bed, tired from the long day and from sex and trying to stay awake, Grantaire finds the courage to ask Enjolras directly what he is doing for Christmas. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s in his own bed that he feels comfortable enough to ask.

“I’m not sure,” Enjolras replies, eyes on the ceiling. He’s beautiful. “I have work to get through.”

“Why am I so surprised that you’re going to do work on Christmas?” Grantaire asks with a chuckle. He leans up on an elbow and touches and finger tip to Enjolras’ bicep. “Couldn’t you take a couple of days off? Christmas eve and Christmas day?”

Enjolras blinks slowly.

Grantaire swallows and just says it. “We could spend it together.”

Finally, Enjolras looks at him. “Don’t you have other plans?”

Grantaire shrugs. “I think I can squeeze you in.” He almost tacks on a joke to the end of that sentence but decides against it in the end.

“Okay,” Enjolras says, simple as that.

“Okay?” Grantaire asks. He’s surprised and no one can blame him.

“I have my parents coming on Christmas eve. They always come on Christmas eve.” It feels like an invitation to join them, until Enjolras adds, “But I can spend Christmas day with you. If you want.”

He makes it sound as though he would be doing Grantaire a _favour_ by spending the day with him, but that’;s forgotten about, as all Grantaire takes from the conversation is that Enjolras doesn’t want his family to meet him. And it _hurts._ It shouldn’t, he should know better by now, but it does all the same.

“Alright,” is all Grantaire says and he lays back and closes his eyes. He knows Enjolras is looking at him, he can feel the blue burn of his gaze, but he pretends not to notice. Soon after, Enjolras is asleep and Grantaire is left staring at the dark, blank ceiling for the next five hours.

***

He drinks himself into a stupor after that and ends up crying on Combeferre’s couch, his fingers clutching a bottle of who knows what. Combeferre is being very helpful in giving Grantaire a shoulder to cry on. Jehan is on Grantaire’s other side and he is looking on Grantaire with a sad expression, his eyes filled with emotion, one hand on his heart. Courfeyrac is sitting across the room, staring at his phone, a small, amused smile on his lips.

“He lifts my hopes and then just dashes them and I let him,” he cries into Combeferre’s shoulder. “I‘m pathetic. I let him do whatever he wishes even though it hurts. God, ’Ferre, it really fucking hurts do you know that? He doesn’t care one bit. He just wants to change the world and drag me with him like some kind of _dog_.”

“That’s not true, R,” Combeferre soothes, but he says no more than that. Grantaire, even in his drunken state, knows that Combeferre, in all his gentleness, cannot be sure that he is speaking the entire truth.

“I just want him to love me,” Grantaire laments into the almost empty bottle. “He’s so beautiful and I’m—I am decidedly _unbeautiful. God._ No wonder he doesn’t want me.”

“You are literally having regular, _regular_ sex,” Courfeyrac comments, not looking up. “That doesn’t sound like he doesn’t want you.”

Combeferre just pats him on the back.

“All I am to him is a warm body,” Grantaire says. He’s growing more upset by the minute. The alcohol isn’t helping. “He is so far out of my league,” he goes on. “Who are you texting?” he demands, looking across at a blurry Courfeyrac.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac informs him.

“ _My_ Enjolras?” he asks, sitting up. There’s a large wet patch on Combeferre’s shirt now.

“Do you know another Enjolras?”

The answer is no, so Grantaire asks, “Why?”

“Do I need a reason to be in contact with a friend?” Courf asks, still smiling.

Grantaire forgets what he asked in the first place and lays back against Jehan, closing his eyes and emitting a weary sigh. “Jehan,” Grantaire breathes dramatically. “Tell me you’ll write and publish a poem based on my life. Tell me there is beauty in my tragedy .”

Jehan tilts his head ever so slightly. “Tragedy and beauty are often connected.”

“Let me give you the first line,” Grantaire says. “Unrequited love is a bitch.”

At that moment, there is a soft rap on the door. Courfeyrac goes to get it and Grantaire opens his eyes to see a figure all in red.

“My dear Apollo,” he says, trying to get up. Enjolras looks mildly concerned, but mostly put out. “Come to rescue me from my gloom?”

Enjolras reaches out and steadies Grantaire. “My place is closer,” is all he says, before steering Grantaire towards the door. He stops briefly to talk to the others and then they leave the building together and go back to Enjolras’.

Once inside, Grantaire tries to kiss him, but it’s sloppy and difficult, because Enjolras keeps pulling back. Grantaire’s drunken heart snaps once again.

“You are drunk,” Enjolras says.

“You are bewitching,” Grantaire tells him in return.

Enjolras frowns. “You should sleep it off,” he tells Grantaire.

“You should sleep with me,” Grantaire says, smiling.

Enjolras gives in and allows Grantaire to kiss him, but only for a short time. Soon after, he drags him to the bedroom and helps him into the bed. Grantaire falls asleep almost instantly, but only because Enjolras is _there_ and it makes him happy to have at least that.

In the morning, he wakes up with a thumping headache. Enjolras is up already and Grantaire finds him in the kitchen. He turns and looks at Grantaire when he enters the room, folding his arms and, yes, frowning. Grantaire offers a weak smile and accepts the coffee cup Enjolras holds out for him.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger?” he asks and regrets it immediately, because talking about his _problem_ usually starts a civil war between the two. It usually reminds Enjolras of just how worthless Grantaire really is.

Enjolras rolls his blue, blue eyes.

“I was joking,” Grantaire claims. He sips the coffee, it’s disgusting, black and lukewarm. He drinks it anyway. He turns around so that his back is against the wall. That’s when he notices it.

“Apollo,” he says, almost dropping the cup. “Your apartment is…” He shakes his head, it’s a bad idea. “It’s _bare._ ”

“Bare?” Enjolras asks, behind him.

Grantaire sighs and turns around to face him. “Enjolras, I realise you have some kind of grudge against happiness, but please, _please_ , let me take you out to get a Christmas tree.”

Enjolras twists his face. “I would not—”

Grantaire snaps his fingers. “Of course, you’re against chopping down trees for no good reason. It’s settled then,” he says and he walks back towards Enjolras and even dares to raise a hand and smoothen out his wild curls, “we’re going to get you an artificial tree.”

And then Grantaire cannot resist placing a tiny kiss to Enjolras’ lips and it seems to do a good job of silencing his protests.

It isn’t easy, but Grantaire manages to convince Enjolras to purchase the cheapest (smallest) tree at the shop. Enjolras isn’t mean, he simply doesn’t believe in squandering money that can be better spent, for example, on helping the people. _The people,_ Grantaire thinks bitterly, are Enjolras’ first priority and there simply isn’t room for him in that stoney, beautiful heart.

It surprises him, but Enjolras helps Grantaire decorate the tree. It stands next to the window and it’s very…

“ _Quaint_ ,” Grantaire tells him, once they have finished. “It’s very quaint.”

Enjolras just stares at it, like it has given him an ultimatum.

“Now that we’ve brought some Christmas spirit to the place, we should watch an old movie.”

“Why?” Enjolras asks.

“It creates a festive atmosphere,” Grantaire informs him, linking an arm through his and leading him towards the couch. “Besides, I still don’t own a tv. Come on.”

***

Enjolras is appalled at Grantaire’s movie choice. Grantaire hasn’t seen _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ since he was much, much younger and he hadn’t noticed the sexist undertones (who was he kidding, they were far from _under_ toned) then. Now, he realises it was possibly the worst choice to have picked to watch with Enjolras of all people. He is stunned. His eyes are wide and he’s shaken his head more often than not. Grantaire offers to switch it off at least 15 times, but Enjolras seems to be enjoying the way it irks him. When it ends, he looks at Grantaire and shakes his head.

“That was not festive,” he tells him. “Offensive, definitely, but not festive.”

“Sorry?” Grantaire offers.

Enjolras stands up and stretches and Grantaire’s eyes are drawn towards his middle, where his shirt has slid upwards. He is all bones and smooth skin. “It’s given me an idea though,” he tells Grantaire. “I’m going to grab my laptop.”

It isn’t exactly romantic, but Grantaire decides to take it as a compliment. He sits back on the couch and watches some sort of bad reality tv show, the frantic sounds of Enjolras’ typing next to him filling his ears as he drifts off to sleep.

***

“So,” Grantaire says after a meeting at the Musain one Tuesday. He sits himself down on the table at which Enjolras is working. Enjolras looks momentarily annoyed, but when he looks up his features soften, but only a little.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, pushing a pile of paper out of the way.

“Is there anything in particular you want for Christmas?” Grantaire asks, all in one breath.

Enjolras closes his eyes and shakes his head. He opens his eyes. “I’m not much of a gift-giver,” he says, scraping at a loose chipping of wood at the edge of the table.

Grantaire lets out an exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes and Enjolras looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I asked what you wanted, not what you were going to get me. You don’t have to get me anything. What do you _want_?”

Enjolras opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He lifts his eyes to Grantaire’s. “Nothing,” he decides. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

Grantaire smiles and pats Enjolras on the shoulder as he stands up. “I should have known you’d be difficult about it. Nevermind. I’ll figure something out.”

Grantaire gives him another smile and moves to walk towards Courfeyrac and Combeferre who are drinking wine and playing cards by the window.

“Wait,” Enjolras says. Naturally, Grantaire freezes immediately, it’s a weakness. “Please, don’t feel like you have to get me anything.”

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” Grantaire says, “I _want_ to.”

Enjolras’ eyes are wide when he says, “Oh.”

He’s beautiful and he’s clueless and Grantaire wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t.

Enjolras clears his throat and lowers his gaze. He starts stacking his papers up and then he gets to his feet. “I’m going to head home,” he says. “I’ll see you later?”

Grantaire nods. Enjolras rewards him with a smile and touches his arm as he goes by. Grantaire is left standing there, frozen to the spot at the contact, despite having been much closer (while wearing a lot less clothing) to Enjolras in the past. He’s knocked from his idiotic reverie when Jehan takes him by the arm and leads him towards an empty table.

“Are you feeling better?” Jehan asks. Grantaire must look clueless, because Jehan elaborates, “Well, you were quite upset the other night,” he says. “Everything is okay again?”

Grantaire knows then that Jehan had likely seen he and Enjolras talking moments earlier. “Oh,” Grantaire says. “I suppose. He isn’t exactly asking for my hand in marriage or even asking me out for coffee, but it could be worse, right?” It _had_ been worse before, back when Enjolras had only ever insulted and scowled. At least now he wanted to be near him, even if it was just a sex thing.

“Let me ask you a question,” Jehan says. Grantaire nods, giving him the go ahead. “On a scale of one to ten, how in love are you with Enjolras?”

Grantaire worries on his bottom lip. “Honestly?” he asks.

Jehan nods.

“I would say roughly about...four thousand three hundred and seventy eight out of ten.”

“Four thousa—Grantaire!”

“You told me to be honest!” he argues, smiling. Honestly, the number is probably higher.

“If you really feel that strongly why haven’t you told him?”

Grantaire laughs at that. It’s absurd.

“What?” Jehan asks. “Why is that funny?”

“Jehan, really, why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you’re miserable!”

“Yes, but can you imagine just how miserable I would be if I told Enjolras and he ended our situation entirely?” Grantaire knows he loves too intensely, that any person in their right mind would run a mile if he confessed just how intensely he loved. No, if all he got from Enjolras was sex that was enough. Being able to fall asleep and wake up next to Enjolras was more than he could ever have hoped for. He was not going to ruin it now.

“Why would he do that?” Jehan asks.

“Because he’s looking for a fuck buddy, not a boyfriend,” he informs Jehan, who looks absolutely scandalised.

“Where is your sense of romance?”

“My sense of romance is perfectly in tact. I’m just telling you how it is. And that _is_ how it is. Enjolras wants sex and I want Enjolras. It works out fine.”

“If it’s so fine then why are you always so upset? Why do you spend hours crying on Combeferre’s couch every week?”

Grantaire doesn’t really have a reply for that. “My drunken alter is an emotional wreck,” he says.

Jehan raises an eyebrow. “Grantaire,” he says. “You are _heartbroken_.”

Grantaire snorts.

“It’s true!” Jehan informs him. “This relationship you have with Enjolras is unhealthy.”

“It’s hardly _unhealthy_.” He shakes his head. “You better not say any of this to Enjolras,” he warns, because, God, how embarrassing would that be?

“Of course not,” he says. “But I think _you_ should say something about it to him.” Before Grantaire can protest, Jehan goes on, “I know you’re afraid of what he might say, but—”

“Honesty, Jehan, I’m not going to talk to Enjolras about anything,” he said. “And that’s final.” He gets to his feet. “Who wants to get a drink?”

Several of the others cheer and they leave the Musain for a bar. That night, he ends up not on Combeferre’s couch, but on his own, with Jehan and Courfeyrac on either side of him, as he cries and laments about the injustices of romantic love.

***

Enjolras blinks awake in the darkness. He’s in the bed alone, which isn’t all that surprising, Grantaire is often out late. And he is in Grantaire’s bed, after all. He’s not sure just when it became a common occurrence, he just knows that sometimes, he feels like staying at Grantaire’s and sometimes, Grantaire feels like staying at his. Sometimes, they just want to spend the nights together.

He sits up in the dark and turns to look at the digital clock that has been thrown across the room a handful of times by Grantaire on early mornings. Its cracked face tells him that it is just after 5am. The next thing he notices is the sounds coming from outside the bedroom. There are hushed voices and sobs and loud sighs and in that instant, his heart beat speeds up. The first thing that comes to mind is that something must be wrong. So, Enjolras climbs out of Grantaire’s bed and rushes out of the room towards the voices and cries.

Courfeyrac is sitting on the arm of the couch looking down at Grantaire who is lying against the cushions crying. Jehan is sitting next to him, rubbing circles across his back. Both Jehan and Courfeyrac look up when Enjolras runs into the room. They stare at him, probably because he is wearing nothing but a pair of grey boxer-briefs.

“What's going on?” Enjolras demands to know.

Courfeyrac's lips upturn into a grin. “You've got it all going on,” he teases, looking Enjolras from head to toe and back again.

Grantaire twists around and looks up at Enjolras through watery eyes. His cheeks are tear stained and his hair is damp.

“Ah, there he is,” Grantaire says. “My Apollo. A perfect living sculpture. Who can blame me for these tears?“

He's drunk, but it leaves Enjolras a little stunned regardless. Grantaire is crying because of _him_? Courfeyrac seems  to be watching Enjolras, waiting for some form of reaction, which Enjolras makes a point not to give.

“Grantaire’s just had a bit of a bad night,” Jehan makes an excuse.

“What happened?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire is blinking up at him, a dopey smile on his face. “Apollo, where are your clothes?” he asks. “Not that the sight isn’t very welcome.”

Enjolras feels the blush high on his cheeks. He doesn’t reply. He looks at Jehan for an explanation, which he seems not to have.

Courfeyrac sighs. “Nothing needs to have happened,” he tells Enjolras. “Grantaire just drank himself emotional again. It happens. It doesn’t need to be questioned.” He gets to his feet. “Jehan and I should get going,” he says, giving Enjolras a pat on the arm. “You look like you’re more than capable of taking it from here.” He grins and glances down at Enjolras’ underwear, which makes him go even redder.

He and Jehan leave then and Enjolras is left to take Grantaire back to the bedroom. He manages to do it, with only a little bit of a struggle. Once they climb into bed, Grantaire clings to him and kisses him sloppily on the ear.

“Apollo,” he says, groggily.

“Yes?”

“D’you ever cry over me?”

Enjolras blinks in the darkness. The answer is no, so he tells Grantaire. “No.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says and he stops kissing him then. “Didn’t think so,” he went on. “As hard and cold as a sculpture and as fiery and dangerous as the sun. Do you feel anything? Beautiful Apollo. Never my Apollo.”

Before Enjolras can reply, Grantaire is asleep. It’s a good thing, because Enjolras has no idea what to say to that anyway.

***

Grantaire slips into the room and then into his usual seat at the back. Courfeyrac is sitting next to him and everyone in the room is watching Enjolras at the front, as he slams a book down on the desk and then turns to write viciously on the whiteboard in bright, red marker, as he speaks loudly and with venom.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. He shouldn’t be that turned on by the spectacle but he is and he can’t help that. He has learnt not to dwell too much on the things he finds hot about Enjolras, mostly because he finds _everything_ about Enjolras hot.

“Have I missed something?” he asks Courfeyrac.

Courf shakes his head. “I thought something may have happened between you two after we’d left,” he says.

Grantaire shakes his head. “He was gone this morning.” That happened sometimes, it was nothing new, probably didn’t mean anything. “I don’t recall anything happening. Unless I said something stupid.”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “You most likely did, let’s be honest.”

Grantaire sighs, worried. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Grantaire.”

He looks up and sees Enjolras glaring at him. He tries to play it cool. “Apollo,” he says.

“How nice of you to join us, an hour late.”

Grantaire shrugs. “I had a thing.”

“You were out of your mind drunk, you mean.”

Grantaire shrugs again.

“Why do you even bother?” he asks, turning away again. And then he mutters, “Worthless drunk.”

It hurts even though it isn’t really anything new. Enjolras has said similar things hundreds of times, many of which were much worse and far more hurtful. Of course, that was before they had their understanding, or lack of understanding, at least on Grantaire’s part.

The rest of the meeting sees Enjolras getting angry at everyone. Grantaire doesn’t bother antagonising him today, it isn’t worth it. Instead, he sits in his seat and observes him as he shouts at practically everyone and writes aggressively on the board. Grantaire thinks he must have said something really, really stupid the night before.

When the meeting ends, Courfeyrac turns to Grantaire. “Are you sure you two didn’t have a fight?” he asks.

“Pretty sure,” Grantaire says. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Rather you than me, my friend,” he says, patting Grantaire on the back.

Once everyone has cleared out of the room, Grantaire makes his way to the front, where Enjolras is packing his books into a bag.

He doesn’t even look up, but he says, “Go home, Grantaire. The meeting is adjourned.”

Grantaire simply sits down on Enjolras’ desk and watches as he zips up his bag.

“Courfeyrac seems to think I may have said something last night to make you act like this,” Grantaire informs him.

“Not everything is about you,” Enjolras says, jaw set.

“You made Jehan cry,” Grantaire reminds him. It hadn't been easy to watch.

“He wasn't being serious,” Enjolras tells him.

“You made Marius cry,” he adds, folding his arms.

“He's Marius,” Enjolras reasons.

He starts to make a move towards the whiteboard, presumably to wipe it clean, but Grantaire reaches out and wraps a hand around his wrist.

"Enjolras," he whispers.

It works, because Enjolras freezes and the look of anger on his face transforms into one of surprise and then defeat.  Grantaire tugs him into the gap between his legs and takes both of his hands in his own. It's new and his heart is racing but he swallows hard to stifle the nerves and strokes a thumb across Enjolras' knuckles.

"Enjolras," he says again. "I know this isn't... I know we're not..." He shakes his head because it doesn't matter, not right now. "But you can talk to me. If you need to. If there's something, anything." He feels stupid. "I just want you to know that."

Enjolras doesn't say anything but he nods.

"Okay?" Grantaire asks, because he needs to fill the silence with something that isn't his hammering heart.

"Okay," Enjolras says quietly.

Grantaire smiles and leans up to press a kiss to Enjolras' lips. He feels unstoppable.

“I should probably apologise to everyone,” Enjolras says.

“Well, maybe to Jehan,” Grantaire mends. Enjolras nods. “And Marius.”

“I don't regret making Marius cry,” he says and he smiles just a little bit and Grantaire’s heart skips a beat, just as it always does when Enjolras does something simple, like smile. It's pathetic really, but he's learned to accept that that's just how it's always going to be.

“Okay, so you don't have to apologise to Marius,” Grantaire says, getting to his feet. Enjolras moves back a little and sadly, lets go of Grantaire’s hands, but he’s still smiling, so all is not lost. He makes his way to the whiteboard and starts wiping it clean.

“Got any plans today?” Enjolras asks, turning around, just as Grantaire is picking up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He reaches out to take it.

“I’ve got it,” Grantaire tells him. “And no, not really,” he says. “I’ve got some Christmas presents to wrap, I guess. How about you?”

They begin walking down the stairs.

“No,” Enjolras replies. “I could give you a hand, if you like.”

Grantaire looks at him with wide and surprised eyes. “Seriously?”

Enjolras shrugs a shoulder. They’re out in the street now. “We could grab a couple of coffees on the way.”

Grantaire doesn’t want to let himself think it, but it’s the closest he has come to a date with Enjolras and there is also the fact that Enjolras wants to participate in something to do with Christmas.

“Sure, Apollo,” Grantaire says, trying his best to play it cool.

Enjolras gives him a smile and he wants so badly to take his hand as they walk, but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to push it and things are going so well that he doesn’t feel as though he could handle the rejection of Enjolras pulling from his grasp. So, they walk down the street side by side and they stop off at a coffee shop that Enjolras informs Grantaire sells fair trade coffee and is worthy of their custom for several other reasons that Grantaire doesn’t care about. Enjolras pays, which gives Grantaire another reason to pretend it’s a date.

When they get back to Grantaire’s, they clear a space on the floor and Grantaire brings wrapping paper, scissors and sellotape and they sit facing one another and for what feels like the first time ever, they are getting along outside the bedroom. Grantaire feels positive and happy until much later that night, after Enjolras has fallen asleep next to him when it hits him that this is always just going to be sex to Enjolras and Grantaire knows he is far too weak to ever put an end to it, despite Jehan telling him he deserves more and better and a million other things he’s wrong about.

It’s an hour later when Enjolras wakes up and looks across at Grantaire through half-lidded eyes.

“Can’t you sleep?” he whispers.

Grantaire doesn’t have anything to say, so he only shrugs.

“Want to talk?”

Grantaire can’t help looking back at Enjolras with surprise.

“You told me I could talk to you,” Enjolras says. “You can talk to me, too.”

 _No_ , Grantaire thinks, _I can’t_. “I’m fine,” he tells Enjolras instead and it’s so cliche that he hates himself for it.

Enjolras slides closer to him until they’re so close that Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ breath on his shoulder. It’s weird seeing Enjolras being affectionate with him, it makes his heart dip and his stomach sink for two very different reasons.

“Do you want me to leave?” Enjolras whispers.

Grantaire wants to scream, but he doesn’t. “Do you want to leave?” he asks.

Enjolras shakes his head in the dark, Grantaire only knows because he can feel his curls against his arm. “No,” he says, simply.

“Okay,” Enjolras says and Grantaire feels a light brush of lips on his bare shoulder and then Enjolras is snuggling down against the pillows and going back to sleep. Grantaire can’t tell if he feels better or worse, but before he can contemplate on the subject, sleep takes him and he lets himself enjoy Enjolras’ presence, for as long as it lasts.

***

Grantaire receives two text messages in the space of two minutes. Both are from Bahorel.

_Meet me and Feuilly at the bar? the first one says._

The next one comes in moments later: _Oh yeah. Feuilly said to say merry xmas._

It’s Christmas eve and he’s miserable. He has spent the entire day cooking for dinner tomorrow, for when Enjolras comes over to spend Christmas day with him. He can’t stop thinking about Enjolras and he doesn’t want to get drunk because he knows it’ll end with him being emotional and annoying. At the same time, he wants to get drunk because at least when he’s drunk he has an excuse for being emotional and annoying. He stares at his phone for a little while longer and then sighs and gets to his feet. He grabs his jacket and heads out the door. He sends a text to Bahorel.

_On my way._

Three hours later he is on top of a table singing with a bunch of men whose names he doesn’t remember. When the song ends, he climbs down and accepts another drink from Feuilly. He sits down at a table in a corner and takes out his phone.

**1 NEW MESSAGE FROM APOLLO.**

He frowns. The text has been there for hours and he doesn’t want to open it, because it’s dropped his spirits just by being there. He closes his eyes and then just opens it.

_Hi, R. Happy Christmas eve. Looking forward to tomorrow, see you then. Enjolras. x_

He cannot take his eyes off of that ‘x’ at the end and he stares at it for so long that Feuilly joins him at the table and looks over his shoulder to see what he is so engrossed in.

“Okay?” Feuilly asks, cautiously.

Grantaire shakes his head and then downs his drink. He is far too drunk to be capable of interpreting that stupid ‘x’ that probably doesn’t mean anything. “Get me another drink?” he asks and Feuilly doesn’t ask any questions, he simply does as Grantaire asks.

An innumerable number of drinks later he is still sitting in that corner, but now, he is telling Feuilly all about his misfortunes and his lack of luck when it comes to love. He’s still clutching his phone, that stupid text message still open. His heart hurts and the words are blurring on the screen and he lets out a long sigh.

“I’m going to call him,” he announces.

Feuilly looks at him like he has four heads. “R, it’s 2am.”

Grantaire has no concept of time when he’s drunk. “I’m gonna do it,” he says.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Feuilly says.

Grantaire shrugs him off and hits the screen to call Enjolras. He gets to his feet, wobbling a little and then slips out the door, Feuilly following. It’s cold and the air hits him the moment he steps outside. He wishes he’d worn his coat, but then he forgets as Enjolras picks up after a few rings.

“Hello?” he answers, voice muffled.

“Apollo,” Grantaire slurs. "Apollo, it's me." He hiccups. "It's me."

"Grantaire?" Enjolras asks. "What time's it?"

He sounds cute like this and Grantaire can’t help smiling.

"It's...late," he offers.

There's a shuffling sound and then Enjolras sounds more awake when he speaks, "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

"What?" Grantaire asks. "No. I don't think so."

"Then... Why are you calling me at...2.17am?"

"Missed you," Grantaire tells him. Beside him, Feuilly rolls his eyes. Grantaire turns away from him and whispers loudly into the phone, "What are you wearing?"

Enjolras emits a weary sigh. "Grantaire," he says. "It's late and I've had a long day. Is there any way you can get yourself home and we can both get some sleep?"

"Don't wanna go home," he says. "Don’t wanna sleep."

"Then what do you want?" Enjolras asks, sounding impatient.

"Only you, Apollo. Always only you. You are the light in my dark life, the —ah! Feuilly, get off—give it back! I'm talking to Enjolras! The light of my life, the blood in my veins, the Kanye to my Kimmy K, the-"

Feuilly holds the phone out of Grantaire’s reach and then presses it to his ear.

“Enjolras, Grantaire doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying. Obviously. He’ll have to call you back tomorrow. Bye now!”

He ends the call and gives Grantaire a look of both pity and disapproval.

"I was talking to Enjolras," Grantaire says again.

"No, you were making a fool of yourself to Enjolras. Grantaire, trust me, you're going to be very grateful that I put an end to that phone call in the morning." He pats Grantaire on the back. "Let's go find Bahorel and get you home."

In the morning, Grantaire doesn’t remember what happened, but he knows it was bad. He picks up his phone and sees that he called Enjolras at late o'clock and groans into his pillow. He quickly dials Feuilly and waits until he picks up, which is a considerable amount of rings later.

"R," he says groggily.

"How bad?" Grantaire asks. It isn't the first time, it probably won't be the last either.

"Allow me to quote," Feuilly says and clears his throat. "He is 'the Kanye to my Kimmy K. '"

"No," Grantaire moans. "No, I did not, oh, God, Feuilly, tell me you're joking, tell me he didn't hear, Christ."

Feuilly is silent. Grantaire groans again.

"My life is over," he says dramatically. "The one good thing in my life and I've gone and fucked it up. He's probably going to end it. How do I convince him I wasn't serious? I need him to think it's just sex for me, too. He's going to know I'm madly in love with him. Feuilly, will you please say something?"

"R, I'm pretty sure there isn't a single person who's met you that doesn't know you’re madly in love with Enjolras. Including Enjolras."

Grantaire shuts his eyes. "My life is over," he repeats.

"Don't let it worry you too much, R. Try to enjoy your Christmas day."

Feuilly is gone then and Grantaire is hit with the reality of what Feuilly has just said.

"Christmas day," he breathes out. " _Fuck_."

***

His phone starts ringing an hour later and he can't take his eyes off of the word 'Apollo' on the screen. He lets it ring for a long time and then finally he answers it, because it doesn't look as if Enjolras is going to stop calling.

"Apollo," he says, trying to sound calm.

"Did I wake you up?"

"I was in the shower," he lies. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Did you still want to spend today together?" Enjolras sounds unsure of himself, which is a first.

Grantaire cannot help the smile that twitches at his lips. He’s so far gone, there’s really no point in lying to himself. "Who would ever pass up the chance to spend the day with you, Apollo?"

Grantaire can almost hear Enjolras rolling his blue eyes.

“What time should we meet?”

“Come round whenever you like,” he replies. “Are you still with your family?” Enjolras groans quietly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Grantaire says, with a chuckle. He still feels like an idiot after the phone call the previous night, but he hopes Enjolras is choosing to ignore it for the foreseeable future.

“I’ll come over around 4?” Enjolras makes it a question.

“Perfect,” Grantaire tells him and when they end the call, he rushes around the entire apartment, trying to make it look presentable, before trying on every item of clothing he owns.

***

Grantaire opens the door to Enjolras pushing a giant box through his doorway. It’s wrapped in plain, gold paper and it’s got a small silver ribbon on top. Grantaire raises an eyebrow and the first thing he thinks is that Enjolras wants him to accompany him to a homeless shelter, or a hospital to bring this enormous gift to starving families, or sick children, or some other less fortunate people, about whom he cares so much.

“What is this?” Grantaire asks, helping Enjolras pull the box inside.

Enjolras swings the door closed and stands up straight. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. “It’s for you.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows go up so high he almost gives himself a headache. “For me,” he repeats, staring at the box.

“It is Christmas,” Enjolras reminds him.

“You said you’re not much of a gift giver,” Grantaire points out.

Enjolras shrugs a shoulder and his cheeks colour very slightly, but Grantaire doesn’t notice, he’s too busy looking at the mysterious gold box. “I made an exception?” Enjolras says and it sounds more like a guess than a statement, so he mends it, “For Christmas.” Then he adds, “For _you_.”

Grantaire is weak, he can’t find words.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

He lifts his eyes to Enjolras. “Enjolras, this is about three hundred times bigger than the gift I got you.”

Enjolras only smiles. “This isn’t a competition, Grantaire. Go ahead. Open it.”

Grantaire nods and starts unwrapping the gift. He stops when he has most of the paper torn off. He is absolutely stunned.

“Well?” Enjolras prompts. “Do you like it?”

Grantaire can only stare. He doesn’t know what to say, except, “I can’t accept this.”

It hurts to watch Enjolras’ smile dropping. “Of course you can.”

“No, Enjolras, I really can’t,” Grantaire says. “This must have cost a fortune.”

“But you needed one,” Enjolras says. “Please, Grantaire, just say thank you and ask me to help you get it set up.”

Grantaire shakes his head and walks across the room. He picks up the small package under his tree and thrusts it into Enjolras’ hands. Enjolras looks down at it.

“Go ahead, open it,” Grantaire says, folding his arms.

Enjolras tears the wrapping paper off carefully and then holds up the red mittens. He lifts his eyes to Grantaire.

“Those gloves,” Grantaire begins, “I _made_ those. They cost practically nothing.”

“They’re great,” Enjolras says, studying them. “Just what I needed.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Enjolras,” he says, wearily. “I don’t think you’re quite grasping what I’m getting at here. I made you a pair of gloves and you got me a _40” Smart TV_.”

Enjolras looks clueless. “It’s Christmas.”

“You don’t even _like_ Christmas!” Grantaire argues.

“But I like _you_ ,” he counters and Grantaire goes still and quiet and tries not to let himself it means what he wants it to mean. “You don’t have to feel badly, Grantaire. I’m perfectly happy with your gift. Thank you. I needed these.”

Grantaire feels more then just badly. He feels guilty and inferior and sick. “I hope you kept the receipt, because we’re taking this back.”

“No, we aren’t,” Enjolras says. “Grantaire, it’s a gift. Please, accept it. The cost doesn’t matter.”

Grantaire scoffs. “The cost doesn’t matter? Who are you and what have you done with my—Enjolras?” He closes his eyes briefly, he had almost slipped up.

“I want you to have it. Please, let’s not fight today.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what to do with that, so he stays quiet.

“It’s Christmas,” Enjolras adds.

“You hate Christmas,” Grantaire feels the need to point out again.

“I don’t _hate_ it—”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t love it either, but I don’t hate it. I do have some Christmas spirit.”

“But I’ve been trying to give you Christmas spirit for weeks now!”

“I realise that. And it’s just not something you can give me. Don’t blame yourself that it didn’t exactly go as planned, because Grantaire, you know I love you, but—”

“I don’t,” Grantaire says, eyes wide. He is stunned beyond belief. He’s dreaming, he must be. He can’t stop his heart from doing somersaults in his chest, can’t stop his legs from weakening and his ears from ringing.

There is a pause. “Oh,” Enjolras says. “You don’t.”

“No,” Grantaire says shaking his head. He’s flustered and confused and he needs to correct himself, because he needs for Enjolras to know what he means. “No, I don’t… You said, ‘Grantaire, you know I love you.’ I don’t. I don’t know that.”

Enjolras’ forehead crinkles and his eyes narrow in confusion, then it dawns on him. “Oh,” he says again. “Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Apollo,” Grantaire breathes, heart _aching_. “Please promise me you aren’t taking it back. I don’t think I can go on if you’re taking it back.”

Enjolras looks surprised. “What? No, of course not. But I didn’t mean to make it so awkward. I apologise for that.”

“Don’t,” Grantaire advises. “God, Apollo, _don’t._ ” Enjolras stays quiet, he watches him intently. “Are you drunk? High? Hypnotised?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Of course not,” he says.

“But… We’re not even _dating_.”

“We...aren’t?” Enjolras asks.

“Are we?” Grantaire says.

They both go quiet.

Enjolras shrugs a shoulder. “I suppose we haven’t had that conversation. I wasn’t sure it was necessary.”

“It was,” Grantaire states. “It _is_ ,” he corrects. “Are you telling me we’ve been dating all this time?”

Enjolras gives him the briefest hint of a smile. “I think we have,” he says.

Grantaire wants to laugh or cry. He can’t decide which. “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asks and Enjolras looks instantly concerned. He nods and rushes forward to guide Grantaire onto the sofa. “You said you love me,” Grantaire says, still unable to quite believe it.

Enjolras nods. “I didn’t mean to surprise you quite so much. I hope you’ll forgive me for blurting it out in such a fashion.”

“Blurting it… _Enjolras_ ,” Grantaire says, a little breathily. “I thought you didn’t like me even a little. How can you not know how I feel about you?”

Enjolras looks clueless, which doesn’t happen very often. They both just sit there for far too long and then Enjolras starts to laugh. It’s jubilant and musical and gorgeous and Grantaire turns his head to look at him. Enjolras simply continues to laugh, his entire body shaking.

“What’s so funny?” Grantaire asks and all he can think is ‘Oh, my God, he was joking, he doesn’t really love me, we haven’t been dating, he’s playing a _joke_.’ He’s always known how cruel Enjolras can be, even in all his wondrous beauty, but this hits him harder than anything else ever has. He feels as though his entire world is falling in on him and he can’t breathe.

“Nothing,” Enjolras tells him, trying to catch his breath. He’s still laughing. “It’s just that we’ve been both liking each other all this time and I’ve been so worried that this was all just physical for you.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you wanted it to be.”

“It never has been, not for me,” Enjolras admits and Grantaire smiles so hard, he swears the corners of his mouth are at risk of splitting.

“Me neither,” Grantaire tells him. “So, you really meant it? You love me? Because I have to say, Apollo, this is all a lot to take in. You admitting to loving me back is certainly quite a revelation on Christmas.”

Enjolras gives him a smile. “I suppose that’s something worth celebrating,” he says. “Assuming you mean that you love me, too.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t know,” he says. “I’ve never exactly been very secretive about it.” Which wasn’t entirely true, as after they had started sleeping together, Grantaire had taken extra care not to show his true feelings where Enjolras was concerned, for fear that he might stop sleeping with him.

“I suppose I was too busy trying to disguise my feelings from you.”

Grantaire can’t quite contain the bursts within him and all he wants to do is lock himself inside a room and scream in giddy delight, but he doesn’t, because he also wants to be with Enjolras, always and everywhere.

“So, you’ll accept my gift?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire looks up. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I know it goes against everything you believe in and it’s even better than your own television.”

“I want you to have it, R,” he swears. “And I love the gloves,” he adds. “Even if there is one little problem with them.”

Grantaire’s heart sinks and his face must show it, because Enjolras laughs.

“Don’t look like that,” he says. “The problem with them is that now when I come in from the cold weather, you won’t have any need to warm my hands with your own.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says and he still cannot believe it. “I could still do that, you know. I would love to keep on doing that.”

“I suppose now that we’ve cleared everything up, us holding hands won’t need to be something we do simply because of the cold.”

“Enjolras, you could do anything to me and I would definitely not object.” He says it without thinking and then regrets it because it sounds clingy and desperate and everything he truly is, but Enjolras _grins_ and reaches out to grab Grantaire’s hand.

“I know you think I don’t feel, Grantaire, but I promise you, I absolutely do. I truly do love you, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.” He leans in and kisses Grantaire on the mouth. “I don’t think you’re worthless—you _aren’t_ worthless. I don’t know why I tell you you are. It’s a defense mechanism, I suppose. If I let you think I don’t like you, you can’t discern my love for you and you can’t laugh at me for it.”

Grantaire is _outraged_. “I would _never_ —”

“I know that now,” Enjolras says with a chuckle. “It’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you, however and I only hope you can forgive me.”

“Enjolras, you could honestly physically torture me and I would still forgive you for it. I’m kind of incapable of being anything but entirely compliant when it comes to you. Well, apart from when you spout revolutionary idealism at me. Those deserve opposition.”

Enjolras narrows his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “I suppose that’s part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

Grantaire is still stunned, he doubts he’ll ever stop being stunned whenever Enjolras says the word love when referring to him. He doesn’t know what more to say on the topic. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Enjolras confirms.

“Good, because I worked extra hard on dinner for our first Christmas together,” he admits, blushing.

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Enjolras tells him.

“I don’t think today could get any more perfect,” Grantaire says out loud.

Enjolras beams at him and it sets his heart racing just as it always has.

***

Later, they are lying together in Grantaire’s bed. They’re naked and they’re curled around one another and they’re wide awake and it’s brand new and exhilarating and Grantaire keeps kissing Enjolras, because he still can’t absorb the fact that this is really happening. Enjolras doesn’t seem to mind, however, because he kisses him back every single time, his fingers twisting in Grantaire’s dark curls, sending a shiver down his back.

Now, Enjolras is tracing invisible words across Grantaire’s arm, a small smile on his lips.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks in an almost-whisper.

“Tell me _everything_ , Apollo,” Grantaire replies.

“I think,” he begins, “that I’m starting to like Christmas.”

This time, Grantaire does not stop himself when he dives delightedly on top of his _boyfriend_ and kisses him until they’re both tired and fall asleep wrapped around each other, their lips swollen and bruise-sore and beautiful.

In the morning, Grantaire will wake and watch Enjolras sleeping next to him and he’ll think that no, operations ‘Get Enjolras to love Christmas’ and ‘Get Enjolras to Love Me’ were not such failures after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I've only ever written for Glee (klaine) so this is really new for me. I hope you like it, please let me know what you think :) Thanks for reading! :) x


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